Chapter 175: A Morning That Shook the Guild
A Morning That Shook the Guild
It was a surprising day in the Adventurer’s Guild.
Morning had barely settled over Fantom City when the first signs of something unusual began to stir. Golden sunlight spilled across the rooftops, slipping between chimneys and faded banners before pouring through the tall, arched windows of the guild hall. Dust motes drifted lazily in that light, rising and falling like a slow, steady breath.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Then—
Boots.
Dozens of them.
Heavy. Uneven. Purposeful.
The wooden doors of the guild swung open again and again, each creak sharper than the last, each push letting in more figures—rough men, sharp-eyed women, unfamiliar faces that didn’t belong to the usual rhythm of adventurers coming and going.
They carried the streets with them.
Iron.
Sweat.
Something raw... something restless.
At first, the guild staff thought it was coincidence.
A busy morning.
Nothing more.
Then the line formed.
And didn’t stop.
It stretched from the front desk to the doors, then past them.
Voices began to pile over each other. Ink scratched faster across parchment. Chairs scraped. The receptionist’s polite smile started to crack as she straightened in her seat, forcing control into her voice.
"Next."
A tall man stepped forward, arms thick, scars running across his forearms.
"Name?"
"Darek."
"Occupation?"
"Fighter."
She dipped her quill, writing quickly.
"Experience?"
"10 years."
She didn’t even look up. "Everyone says that."
A faint snort came from the side.
"Next."
A woman stepped forward this time—lean build, confident stride. Her hips swayed just enough to be deliberate, not accidental. Dust clung to her boots, but her gaze was sharp.
"Name?"
"Lysa."
The receptionist paused for half a second, eyes flicking up—taking in the woman’s posture, the confidence... the way her fitted gear hugged her waist and chest without apology.
"...Occupation?"
"Scout."
"Specialization?"
Lysa smirked slightly. "Getting in and out without being caught."
Someone behind her muttered, "Bet she distracts half the guards on the way."
A few low chuckles followed.
Lysa didn’t turn.
"Want to test that theory?" she said calmly.
Silence.
The receptionist cleared her throat quickly, scribbling faster.
"Next!"
"Name?"
"Rogan."
"Occupation?"
"Mercenary."
"Affiliation?"
"...None."
The air shifted slightly at that.
Unfamiliar.
Independent.
Too many of those today.
"Next—wait—one at a time!"
Forward surged the line, packed tighter now, breath hot between shoulders. Louder came the shouts, sharp and close, filling the air without warning.
Some of the older explorers slouched by the notice wall slowly sat upright, their tired slump giving way to sharper attention.
A figure stood still, arms folded while eyes stayed on the row ahead.
"What’s going on today?"
Leaning back, another pressed into the wall, gaze tightening.
"Since when do this many people register at once?"
A sound slipped from the third, soft and sharp, when the next woman moved forward - height stretching past the rest, shoulders wide, metal shaped close around her like it was made to stay. Her legs carried solid weight, hips set without give, every line of her built for holding ground.
He paused, then whispered, "There’s a problem here.".
Chaos began seeping into the guild - normally sharp and noisy, now slipping loose. Quiet at first, then harder to ignore. Sounds overlapped without pattern. What was once rhythm cracked under uneven pressure. A hum turned jagged. Order faded like a signal lost.
Right away, Isabella - the guild master - noticed what had happened.
Upstairs, her fingers drifted across pages she barely cared about. One ankle rested on the opposite knee, body loose like someone who never had to shout their authority. Stillness spoke louder than motion.
Then the noise started.
Faint at first.
Then louder.
Persistent.
Annoying.
Her purple eyes narrowed slightly.
"...What now?"
She exhaled softly, setting the papers aside. With a slow, unhurried motion, she stood, brushing her long purple hair over one shoulder. The movement was effortless, but there was weight behind it—the kind that made people notice without understanding why.
As she stepped toward the door, she paused briefly.
Listened.
Too many voices.
Too much movement.
Too much intent.
"...Yeah," she murmured under her breath, "this isn’t normal."
Her boots clicked softly against the wooden floor as she made her way down the staircase.
Step by step, her awareness sharpened.
The noise wasn’t just noise anymore.
When she reached the main floor and looked over the crowd, she immediately understood—
This wasn’t random.
This was orchestrated.
Her gaze swept through the people.
Not adventurers.
Not really.
They stood differently. Their posture lacked discipline, but carried something else—street confidence, hidden violence, survival instinct. These weren’t people who chased monsters for coin.
These were people who were the monsters others whispered about.
And then—
She saw him.
Leaning casually near one of the pillars, as if he had all the time in the world.
Victor.
Black hair. Golden eyes.
That same irritating, unreadable smile.
Isabella’s eyelid twitched—just slightly.
There it is.
She didn’t even need to think.
The moment he looked she saw the irritating sly face of Victor.
Of course it was him.
Who else could turn a peaceful morning into something like this?
Isabella folded her arms, watching from a distance for a moment.
Isabella knew that Victor was once again up to something.
These people?
They were his.
Obviously.
No need to guess.
The pattern was too clear.
Still... something about this scale made even her pause.
As Isabella scanned the newly registered adventurers more carefully, her sharp gaze began picking out details others would miss.
Then—
She froze.
Just for a second.
Two figures.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
When she looked even closer, she was shocked to see who the two were.
The bulging mass of muscles that stood like a giant—
Eon.
The former bandit king.
A walking wall of flesh and brutality, towering over others, his mere presence enough to make nearby adventurers instinctively keep their distance.
And beside him—
Brinda.
The witch.
Sometimes called the succubus of the night.
Long purple hair catching the sunlight, her figure wrapped in flowing fabric that revealed just enough to distract and disarm. Her smile was soft... but her eyes were anything but.
Danger.
Calculated.
Those two were big shots in the underworld.
Especially here in Fantom City.
The two practically owned it.
And here they were—
Standing in line.
Registering.
Like rookies.
Isabella’s fingers tightened slightly against her arm.
...What kind of joke is this?
Her gaze flicked back to Victor.
And what she saw next only made it worse.
Eon—respectful.
Brinda—playful, yes, but still restrained.
Both of them... orbiting him.
Following his lead.
Isabella’s mind moved quickly.
Pieces fell into place.
Connections formed.
This wasn’t temporary cooperation.
This was hierarchy.
Which meant—
Victor wasn’t just involved with the underworld.
He had taken it.
Her thoughts sharpened.
So... this is what you’ve been doing behind the scenes.
A slow breath left her lips.
Interesting.
Dangerous.
Very, very troublesome.
Before she could decide whether to step in or simply observe further—
Victor moved.
Like he had been waiting for the exact moment her attention settled on him.
He straightened, pushed himself off the pillar, and walked toward her.
Not hurried.
Not cautious.
Confident.
Casual.
As if this entire guild... belonged to him.
A few adventurers instinctively stepped aside as he passed, though none could quite explain why.
His presence carried weight.
Invisible.
But undeniable.
Isabella clicked her tongue softly under her breath.
Here it comes.
Seeing that smile on Victor’s face, Isabella could already guess—
He was once again going to ask for something unreasonable.
Victor stopped in front of her.
Close enough for his shadow to overlap hers under the morning light.
His golden eyes gleamed faintly.
And then—
He smiled.
That same shameless, easygoing smile.
"Hey guild master, long time no see."